Peanuts and Rum
by nothingmoreridiculous
Summary: One locker, one goat and waaaay too many Jacks.


**A/N:** Saw movie three(TWICE!!!). Nearly passed out. Can't stop thinking about sexy pirates. All plot bunnies are having mad passionate love affairs with Jack and Will. I plead insanity.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own the people, don't own the settings, don't own the plot line—I'm not even sure I own this computer.

-- Be warned, spoilers ahead--

_L.M.Wilson_

* * *

**Peanuts and Rum**

"_Curiosity..."_

"…You'll want to know what it tastes like" 

What it tasted like… what the good side of the line _tasted_ like. Jack's life, the life he was so accustomed too, was the life of a pirate, heartless and free. It tasted like rum. And he rather liked rum, so that was fine with him. But then Elizabeth had so _kindly _offered to let him taste the other side of life, her side of life, and he had taken her up on that offer—one thing lead to another…

And now he was dead…

….He preferred the rum…

"_Of course_," Jack thought bitterly, watching himself mill around on the deck of the motionless _Black Pearl_ the lack of the gentle sea sway he was accustomed to serving as another reminder of his ghastly situation. _"Of course_--_hind sight and all that—bloody woman, bloody handcuffs." _Elizabeth, in hindsight, had been a right little pirate after all.

If the bad side tasted like rum (and speaking of which- Ole' Jones's locker was despairingly rum-less.) Then the good side must taste like….

Peanuts.

He bit down on another round nut chewing reflectively. It tasted of peanuts and it was boring as hell. Irony there- Hell was as boring as hell. Yes-it was irony, but not the funny kind, it was the cruel, biting kind, the kind that followed you around and whispered in your ear for years, it was the kind only lots and lots of rum could numb.

But he didn't _HAVE_ any rum!! He was in Davy Jones locker and it was despairingly- GAH!

This wheeling in mental circles thing was making his head spin. He needed a distraction.

"Mr. Sparrow!!"

The entire crew looked up at one time. "Aye aye Capn' Sparrow!!" _"Oh bloody 'ell…" _Jack looked at the him selves, irritated.

"Oh…you, you there. You, get two others and go see if the cannons work. It'd be right improper for us to not man the armory... And get off that bloody goat Mr. Sparrow!"

A rather putout 'Aye-aye' followed this, and Jack began to pace again.

He watched several versions of himself in various states of undress and drunkenness begin to drag powder and cannon balls below deck. _'Is that really what me hair looks like from the back? Bloody 'ell.' _And he followed them, his step swaying slightly, as if to make up for the lack of sea sway.

Below deck was cooler, and shady. Normally he would nip off down here at the odd moment and get a sip of rum, but though all the bottles were in place, they were all empty. Davy Jones was worse about the stuff that even Elizabeth.

"Make ready to fire."

Three of the Mr. Sparrows' that followed him below obeyed and began to make the cannons ready to fire. One however stood up and began to object. "But Capn'-"

Without a second though, Jack unholstered his pistol and shot himself, watching his own body (minus a shirt) fall to the floor for only a moment, knowing he wouldn't stay dead. (Jack had shot quite a few crew people multiple time to assure himself of this fact in his first few days.) He addressed the currently living men.

"Now- 'for the order…. FIRE!"

The cannons exploded with an extremely satisfying blast of noxious powder and shrapnel. It was rather nice, Jack mused, to vent your frustration in violent and entirely unnecessary ways. "What now?" He was sure cannons would get boring if he was just watching cannon ball after cannon ball fall to the stony white floor.

"Hmmmm…what to blow up… what to blow up…"

"Umm… Capn'?"

Jack looked over to see one of his crewmen (Who technically _was_ him) looking hopeful…

… And holding that _goat_.

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**A/N:** Hahaha… Twisted- I know… But seriously guys…This _wasn't my fault_. Two of my friends seem to have decided my muses aren't nearly solid enough, and are now sitting next to me, shouting suggestions at the screen.

Yes, its true… the people I hang out with _**are**_ in fact, weirder than I am.


End file.
